The Collection
by twigletmoo
Summary: One-shot revolving around Adam and a nasty cutting habit he has picked up. Set during the episode Jump.Please read the warning at the top of the story!


Disclaimer – I do not own any the TV show Joan of Arcadia (though, admittedly, I do have a few episodes on tape).

WARNING – This story contains themes of self-harm and should not be read by anyone who feels it may trigger acts of self-harm on themselves. Raising awareness of the subject is, in my opinion, a good thing, but if you feel you may be offended by this story, please don't read it. Just click the little "Back" button on the top of your browser.

A/N – This story takes place in the middle of the episode "Jump". I don't quite know where it's going, it may end up being a one-shot. Which I would prefer... I think... unless I can get hold of a copy of "Jump" and work the whole thing into a sub-plot or something... But either way, it's not going to go all alternate universe on you guys...

* * *

_**The Collection**_

In the quiet of his shed, surrounded by bits of metal, coat hangers, hubcaps, tin cans and an old bicycle, Adam sat and stared at his collection. To anyone off the street, the shed looked as if it was full of rubbish and junk, all just waiting to be thrown out with the trash. But to Adam they were feelings and emotions waiting to be formed, shaped and, ultimately, expressed. Most of Adam's art had been borne out of anger, pain, sadness and loss, but recently there had been a change, with some of his pieces reflecting softer, warmer feelings, like hope, and maybe even love. Adam had never been very articulate, words never seemed to come easily, but then, there had never been any real need for words. He could say all he wanted to say much better through his art.

But today was different. Today Adam was sat staring at his collection, not his art.

A dozen perfectly straight white lines streaked across his left arm. It had been at least a year since he'd sat, left sleeve rolled up, his eyes playing over the scars, his thoughts turning to the pocket knife held loosely in his right hand. He knew he shouldn't. He thought he was past this. His art and sculptures had extinguished the need for this. But since Joan had destroyed his best work yet, Adam hadn't been able to work.

And today he'd sunk to a new low. Kevin, Joan's brother had fallen from his chair, and it had been Adam's fault.

_Shouldn't of pulled my arm back..._ thought Adam, _can't believe how stupid I am... she must hate me even more now... Kevin's a fucking cripple... how could I...?_

Frowning and blinking back tears, Adam clenched his teeth and set the knife against his skin.

_**Adam's POV**_

I can't believe I'm here again. In this place. Looking at the silver flash of metal against my skin. My eyes wander to the old marks on my arm. They're white now, but I remember the vivid red colour of a fresh cut, and the way the stress and tension of 'real-life' seems to flow away with the blood. I return to the blade, my blade. It's so beautiful... sharp... clean... ice cold... deadly...

I press the blade to the skin, just hard enough to leave a mark, but not enough to break it. There is no need to rush, nowhere to go, no people to meet. Not now, anyway. Not after what I did... The image of Jane's face as her brother falls flashes before my eyes, and quickly becomes Joan's face. It's hard to describe the difference, they are both the same person. But Jane's face is... well, just Jane, my Jane. But Jane's face slips as she sees her brother fall, and the mask of Joan's falls into place. There's disbelief in that face, shock, surprise and even disgust, all of it directed at me, at my actions.

Pressing the blade for a moment longer against my skin, I remove the cold metal from my warm arm and examine the mark. It's not enough, there is no art without colour and the newest addition to my collection has no colour. Slowly, deliberately, I return the blade to my arm, and draw the metal across the skin, tracing a line of blood from my outer forearm to the inner. Almost immediately a warm feeling overcomes me, and I sit, staring at the blood flowing freely from the cut. It soothes and calms me.

I can breathe now...

No more thoughts of them and their accusing eyes...

God, I hate myself, that I'm like this, that I need to do this... I thought I had friends, people who liked me. But Joan ruined that. I wish she was still Jane, but whenever I look at her, all I see is Joan, and my art broken and scattered all over the floor.

It's her fault I'm here now, with my blade. Her fault and Kevin's fault. I told him to let go of my arm. I told him, and he still held on. It's their fault, not mine...

The flow of blood is slowing.

I need more, but I hesitate. How can I need more so soon? I hate myself... I'm so weak, needing this, doing this whenever things don't go my way.

Stupid, isn't it... I know this is wrong... but here I am again.

I started this after Mom... well... wasn't around anymore. But then I realised my 'Collection' wasn't enough, it would never be enough. I would never be able to show her what I could do. I would never become someone she would be proud of. I realised that carrying on my 'Collection' would be as if we'd both died. Like neither of us existed in the real world anymore. She existed only in my memories and I existed only through cutting. It began to feel like I was cutting her.

God, this makes no sense. My head's getting fuzzy. The blood has started to clot and it's only able to escape my cut through a couple of places now.

The blade returns to my arm as if by itself. Why do I keep doing this?

Another red line glints in the sunlight on my arm. The line is perfectly straight and perfectly parallel to its dying companion. Perfect. But soon it will clot over too, and what then...? Another one, and another? Where will it end?

I'm beginning to sound like Jane. All confused and jumbled. She hardly ever makes sense, but to me she doesn't need to. I just 'get' her. I wish she would come back. I wish she could come back. But the bitter cynical cutter in me fears the damage is irreparable. Jane is gone. Just like Mom. And now I have no-one, and nothing... nothing but my blade.

**_Narrative_**

Adam slouched against the back of his chair and his breathing slowed. The world felt comfortable now. Thinking too much was definitely bad for you, much better instead to lie back, and drift off to dream...

His eyes were getting heavy. The Arcadian sun was beginning to dip low in the sky and the air was warm.

Adam closed his eyes and was nearly asleep when he heard the shed door open. Lazily squinting he could see a flurry of activity at the door, and then someone walking towards him. Their outline was bright around the edges, but blurred and for a moment he couldn't tell who it was. They were talking to him. Saying something. Or maybe shouting, Adam didn't know. All sounds seemed to be drowned out by the silence that was ringing in his head. Everything sounded like he was underwater, quiet, unaffected, not part of this world, nearly belonging to the next.

"Jane...?" said Adam, trying to sit up.

"Yes, it's me. Sh, stay where you are, don't try to talk... My mom's gone to get help..." replied Joan.

"Jane, you look beautiful... like an angel... It's so quiet in here, and I'm so sleepy, I have so much to tell you, I'm glad you're back..." Adam lay back and closed his eyes. All went dark and the underwater silence became whole.

_**Fin**_

* * *

A/N – Well, that was it. And I keep wanting to change bits, maybe add bits, maybe re-arrange bits. But for now, it is done. I'll leave it to you, the Reader, to decide Adam's fate. I kinda wanted to kill him off, but couldn't bring myself to do that – he's too sweet! So, I hope have saved him, whatever the future may hold. He has a chance now... now that his Jane is with him...


End file.
